His Kindness, His Roughness EN
by TheAcupuncturist
Summary: With resignation he figured. It was a forbidden aroma, one he had to avoid at all costs. She was unattainable. Until that night. [Implicit infidelity, Affair, KibaIno]


**WARNING:** **Implicit infidelity**

 **If this is a sensitive issue for you, turn around and don't look back.**

 **This story developed after I saw a fanart of these two characters. The rest... is history.**

 **Enjoy.**

* * *

 **Ino Yamanaka.**

The clock marked 2:00 a.m.

She stood from the edge of the bed, her rising breaking the silence for one second.

Palms pressed against her boudoir, the mirror returned her image. And in her eyes she could recognize nothing but the sharp certainty of her actions.

She took the small perfume, hidden behind many others. A fragrance she only dared to use in this occasions.

Five drops were sufficient; two behind the ears, two on her wrists, one between her bosom.

With forced calm she walked towards the door, unhanging her coat while at it.

Adrenaline was already storming the blood, and anticipation tied a knot in her abdomen.

He wouldn't be back in four days.

She stepped out of their house, their home, used already to the hint of sinfulness, of betrayal.

But never could she found her interest to stop.

It wasn't at all that she didn't love her partner. On the contrary, her heart swelled with fondness for him.

Still he was _too delicate._

The artist proved to be always _too_ _gentile_ , _too_ _careful_ ; he was the representation of complete passivity. Despite finding it adorable, of provoking her immense and tender love, _it was not enough._

Because she had always been a dominant presence, a captivating one. She loved raw, seductive excitement.

With time, and for her misfortune, she realized that, no matter how hard she tried to _show_ him, no matter how much she tried to evoke his _aggressiveness_ , it was simply _non-existent_ in him. He limited himself to being the living image of submission.

It was frustrating beyond reason; despite her sentimental needs were covered (and exceeded), the ones of her body claimed more, _much more._

By mere chance, she had the perfect person to compensate.

They realized during a party, before her relationship with the painter existed.

Everyone was drunk, cheerful. The pale-skinned ninja absent with a mission.

She was sitting next to the animalish man, handing out sarcasm and jokes with the sultry atmosphere. A pleasant fog covering the brain, inhibiting even more her character, tongue sharp with the verbal exchange.

There was a subtle touch in her shoulder, almost absent. She thought she had imagined it. With heaviness she turned her head, meeting with sharp, dark pupils.

A warm hand, hidden beneath the table, gripped her thigh, and the slight scratch of his nails sent an electric jolt through her spine.

Something happened in that gaze, because when he rose, she followed. Never knew the motif, nor she cared to find it.

They met in the narrow hallway that led to the restrooms, and he drew near to her neck, his arms caging her against the wall.

He was wary enough not to touch her at all, his sensitive nose floating just above her carotid, above her naked shoulder.

She thought she might combust.

The fact that his skin didn't touch hers, that his fingers were kept against the wall and not dug into her flesh, just seemed to magnify the wild attraction he awakened in her.

"Ino" his voice rough, almost like a growl. "If you truly want this, meet me in the park bench near the burial ground."

In that moment she hadn't dared to touch him; something in his bluntness, in the _hunger_ of his eyes, suddenly seemed to displace her own preeminence, leaving her on the other side of the line she knew so well.

It was beyond description, and she found herself _eager to try it._

She returned to the table, he left the place. Those present too drunk to notice her restlessness, absorbed in their own jokes and conversation.

None asked when she said goodbye, excusing herself with something ridiculous like finishing a pending flower arrangement.

Walking through lonely streets, covered with a light sweater to protect her from the fresh wind of summer, she reckoned herself too anxious for her own good.

She was aroused, swore by her _Shintenshin_ that she had never felt like this for a man. Her impatience burned her entrails.

And knowing that he could _smell it_ was the last she needed to cover the remaining meters.

Her legs were weak when she flexed them to sit on the cold place, helping just a little to quench her desire.

He arrived shortly after.

They approached each other. Some kind of paralysis seized their bodies, keeping them just a few centimeters away.

Despite not touching, not moving, their breaths turned violent as if they were.

She watched him inhale, fill his lungs, and she had the certainty that he could _taste_ _her scent._ That he could perceive in his nose how _impatient_ she was. Because when he opened his eyes and met his sharp pupils, she recognized the same lust she felt in his face.

His hand reached out, and the moment she took it they disappeared in a whirl with his _Shunshin._

He ravaged her against a wall in an abandoned building nearby, burying himself without any hint of care, without refraining when he bit her neck.

"Use that perfume, and meet me in the same place" he said between lunges.

And she _knew_ that inevitably she'd cross that line again.

Seldom did she felt so alive with sex.

So there she was _one more time,_ her insides ignited with the same intensity as the first one. Even with everything, she still was selfish.

Truth be told, she didn't care that much.

Any doubt she might have had was crushed when she met him, when she traced the red marks on his face, when he stared at her with the _need_ he only had for her.

They disappeared, only to return to that building; it had become some kind of ritual neither dared, nor wanted, to change. It was an essential part of the experience, following a manual they undertook to write with their sweat, with their saliva.

Their clothes moved just enough. Never had they undressed completely; desire was capricious and allowed no delays.

When she noticed his erection, when he _breathed her_ , she was already trembling with lust.

She circled his neck with her arms and his hip with her legs, and he received her in perfect synchrony, pushing her body against the wall as he sank deep inside her.

That first contact always cut their breathing, always made them stop a few seconds to pull themselves together.

When the sense of sight was reconnected (touch seemed to overload their sensory system) and the blue eyes met the dark ones, they granted their lewdness to incinerate them.

They kissed fiercely, swelling the soft skin with the abuse. She clenched his shoulders too tight, scratched the skin in his trapezius. He slammed against her thighs, dug his claws in her ass, in her waist.

"You… smell… so…good" his voice hoarse, interrupted by the contractions of his abdomen with every ramming.

Even with all the wildness, with all the hunger of their meeting, he _always_ gave her at least two orgasms.

When they took place, it seemed that if the Earth were to split in two and swallow her, she would leave with a smile on her face.

And if in carelessness she screamed, she could trust him to cover her mouth with his hand, even if that meant biting him (which wouldn't be the first time).

Not that he seemed to mind that much.

They fell apart, their bodies strong enough to endure it, and remained gasping several seconds.

The looked at each other, their gazes plagued by the immense satisfaction they felt.

A satisfaction that would last until their next encounter.

Until she wore _that perfume_ again.

* * *

 **Kiba Inuzuka.**

Having a keen sense of smell proved to be useful many times, and happened to be unpleasant many others.

It granted him a very unique perception of the world, to enjoy certain experiences with multiple shades.

Women's smell fascinated him; it was a diverse, complex fragrance that he could not replicate even if he had the elements to do so. It wasn't sexually driven, just the mere appreciation of an aroma, the sensory enervation it produced him.

At least that's what he thought.

Of all the scents, of all the subtle fragrances, Ino Yamanaka's was his doom.

He thanked every deity that their assignments kept them apart for so long, because in the meetings, in the friendly reunions, it was _painful_ to be so close.

Never dared to accept a sparring if they were in the same training ground.

It had been exaggeratedly hard to remain still when one time, during early morning, he saw her arrive after a mission. It was a coincidence, and they crossed paths only a few moments when exchanging greetings.

The blend of her skin, of her blood, of the damp earth, of the _adrenaline_. It was like a collision.

However, he was much more prudent than what his wild appearance might appear.

He excused himself and walked away as fast as he managed, holding the air despite the throbbing in the oxygen deprived muscles.

Moon knew he wasn't particularly good controlling his instincts, and the one awakened by the complex, seductive scent of the mentalist turned out to be a conflicting discovery.

It was unbearable and at the same time impossible to resist.

With resignation he figured. It was a forbidden aroma, one he had to avoid at all costs.

 _She was unattainable._

Until that night.

Fate had her sitting to his side, joking with him while sticking an elbow to his ribs with the impudence only alcohol could give to someone. And with every slight move, with every swing of her long hair, the smell intoxicated him far worse than any drink.

He had to concentrate on the rest of his senses to ignore his overwhelmed nose. Fixed his attention to the cold of the beer in his hand, to the texture of the wood beneath his fingertips. His ears recorded the sound of the conversation without exactly figuring what it was about. His eyesight locked on the face of the people in front of him, on the painting above one of his friends, on the drink's label.

Several occasions her snowy thigh touched his, leaving a warm tingling remnant. He took long gulps of his liquor to get drunk faster and numb his smell.

Finally he started to relax, believing he could withstand the night without trouble…

From the corner of his eye he noticed; the way her legs uncrossed and remained just a little open. It was a whole minute before she rested a femoral biceps against a quadriceps again.

The pathetic attempt to anesthetize his sense turned useless.

His sensitive receptors captured with acute clarity the scent she exudate, boosted by the heat of the place, by the dilatation of vessels due to the alcohol.

Saliva got stuck in his throat; the characteristic smell of _arousal_ penetrated him. He was sure; that combination of hormones only came close to the ones during battle.

And no one was fighting at that moment.

He could not find the reason of her condition.

He never asked her after.

With the certainty of his finding, he decided he would bet it all.

The idea of never having the chance to _taste her_ was way worse that the reject or the repudiation she might have had for him for trying.

Instinct took over; the epinephrine in his blood honed the mind.

Leaning, his nose floated millimeters away from her bare shoulder, from her naked neck.

Every bit of his restraint was used to not come closer.

A hint of nervousness formed in his abdomen when she noticed and turned her head.

That same nervousness transformed into something completely different when he _saw it_ in her eyes.

There was some laziness in them due to the liquor, but in the slight closing of the eyelids there was also the recognition, and the colour blue seemed to darken a tone while looking back at him. He suspected that, maybe, she was thinking the same as him.

He covered the white surface of her leg with his palm, his nails scratching ever so slightly her skin. Clenching his teeth helped him to keep his composure.

Her eyes scintillated and he needed nothing more.

When the inviting smell of her arousal became stronger in his nose, he had to stand in order to maintain himself from doing something unwise in front of everyone.

Taking hurried steps towards the bathroom, he noticed the subtle mark of her presence following.

He caged her between him and the wall. And his own nature wanted, _demanded_ , one more taste of that aroma. Hands against the concrete, he did not touch her.

The nostrils expanded with the breathing, filling lungs one more time while tracing just above her skin.

He perceived that her body language, normally confident, almost arrogant, became something similar to submission (though not completely). It was just a fraction, enough to let him _know_ she was _willing to try._

How he refrained from kissing her, he always wondered.

Limiting to talk, he asked her to meet him in one place. One that he used to frequent in his sleepless nights. Relatively close to his territory.

He left the bar without bothering to say goodbye; the fire of his drive seemed to burn any kind of learned manners.

The consciousness diluted with the hormones in his blood, bringing forth his most instinctive self with every minute.

He waited for her, and when he noticed her presence in the wind, when her silhouette took seat on the bench, he became the predator.

Covering the meters, he halted just when centimeters separated them.

Her craving only resonated with his own, limiting themselves to stay there, trembling, agitated as if they had already engaged in a violent exchange.

A momentary evoking of chakra and they were gone.

There was no space in his mind to be considerate, to measure himself.

Because he knew _she wanted it like that._

She received each and every lunge, each and every bite, and returned the roughness with the dig of her nails, with the guttural growl that came from her throat. A sound he reckoned her not capable of doing until then.

A growl that mixed too well with his own.

A beam of lucidity had him talking, had him leaving between gasps an open proposal.

There was not much thinking done to know he wouldn't set for just one time, and the moment her eyes locked him after her orgasm, he understood that she would neither.

He waited for her again, impatient.

Knew her well enough to know she would come, because the artist was to be absent for some days, because two days ago he had smelled with complete explicitness the hormonal discharge in her bloodstream when they crossed a glance.

The feeling of being a traitor had come, but he found comfort in thinking that what they shared was much older, much more primordial.

Intense enough to have them coming back after all that time.

It was 2:09 a.m.

Naturally, he smelled her before seeing her.

And he would never grow tired of that previous excitement before she appeared in his sight.

They never touched before summoning the _Shunshin._

It was reserved for that place, whose walls were witness of their surrender, of their decadence.

The concrete absorbed the noises of their avidity, of their rapture. And every now and then his hand received the curses that escaped her fine lips.

He found that the scent of her orgasms was even more addictive than the one of her skin mixed with that particular perfume.

So, with devoted attention he pushed her towards the abyss as many times as he could manage, also pushing himself to the point of painful holdback.

Never had he imagined that containing his own release could become into something so devastator when his resistance was broken; be it because of a bite, of a tightening in her core, or a muffled scream against his palm or his neck.

He barely found the strength to absorb their collapsing a little.

They fell heavily, their panting the only sound in that building.

An overwhelming instinct of possession took over him, because the air was filled with her seductive smell, tainted by the raw smell of his own.

Blue met with the black, and there was nothing more.

It was 3:27 a.m.

* * *

 **Not that I ship these two particularly, but while I was writing this it seemed they matched each other perfectly under these circumstances.**

 **Nor am I an advocate of infidelity, nor do I support it. I just like to explore all these dark subjects that Naruto's universe offers so freely. And in a world where everything is ruled by battle, by conflict, by emotions way too mature for teenagers, none of this seems improbable for me.**

 **As a final clarification, the ages correspond to their versions shortly before the war, covering until after Naruto and Hinata's wedding. And before having children.**

 **If you find mistakes, do let me know. My native language is Spanish and it's pretty different to write in English, you know, the rules, the grammar. Some phrases make perfect sense to me until I try to translate them. It's fun though.**

 **Greetings.**


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